


Letter to a long-gone friend.

by My_Young_Friend



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-24
Updated: 2009-11-24
Packaged: 2017-10-03 16:30:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Young_Friend/pseuds/My_Young_Friend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This isn't a Dear Dad sort of letter. I need your advice on this one, Trap."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letter to a long-gone friend.

Dear Trapper

Christmas greetings from Korea! As I write, it has just turned from Christmas Eve into the most chillingly frostbitten Christmas Day that Uijeongbu has to offer. I hope these freezing thoughts are useful to you when this finally reaches you mid-summer.

I'm sure you're about as happy to receive this reminder of the hell you've left behind as I am to write it. But I'm suffering from a significant lack of options, here. I've written to just about everybody I know and a lot of people I don't. Besides, this isn't a Dear Dad sort of letter. I need your advice on this one, Trap.

"And here we are," Hawkeye gestured to the tent door, "the MASH Hilton. Fresh running lice in every room and daily turn-down service for the dirt."

"What's the room service like?"

"Oh fantastic, as long as you like decade-old creamed corn and chipped beef that was rejected by Napoleon."

BJ laughed the uninhibited laugh of the completely inebriated. "With food that good, I may never leave!" He threw his bag towards the bed, missing the mattress completely and clattering it against a post.

The sound reverberated around the tent and Hawkeye slumped onto his bed, head in his hands. "I think my hangover is making a spirited attempt to re-take my head"

There was a thud from the other side, followed by a snore that could only be described as gentle if compared to certain volcanic eruptions.

"Good idea," yawned Hawkeye. "I'll get right on it."

I tried to keep an eye on BJ. He wasn't like you and me. He was like you and me when we first got out here. And you know how great that period was. I think it might even have been worse for him, because he adamantly refused to indulge in the traditional past-times of wine, women and song. He may have been a decent baritone but left much to be desired in the drunken molestation of nurses. Played a good game of poker as my wallet will attest to, but poker can only go so far. 

BJ walked back into the Swamp, careful and composed, shutting the door as he entered. That was Hawkeye's first clue. The second was the air of tension that hung thick in the air like yesterday's coffee. That interviewer from the news had stirred things up for a lot of people, and BJ had left over an hour ago to speak with him. Hawkeye mentally tossed a coin over whether he should say something. Of course, the coin was loaded in favor of his curiosity.

"Interview done?"

"Yep." BJ's reply was curt and a little too light.

"Anything you wanna talk about?"

"Nope."

"Well I just finished with my Nudists Monthly if you need a pick-me-up."

Hawkeye could practically hear BJ grit his teeth "Who needs a pick-me-up, I'm fine"

"Mhmm." Hawkeye waited. It didn't take long.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" BJ snapped.

"Oh nothing, nothing. Only the last time I was in the same room as anyone as frustrated as you, I was in a nudie bar with a trainee priest. And that's a story, let me tell ya-"

"You know what? Why don't you just-" BJ stopped and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I'm just a little irritated right now. The journalist brought a few things up."

"What, was he conducting the interview with an electric chair?"

"No but I think his line of questioning violated several clauses of the Geneva Convention."

"Such as?"

"Asking me how I felt"

"Ooh, now that's low."

"Yep."

The tent fell silent again. Even Hawkeye's curiosity couldn't persuade him to ask BJ how he was feeling. Besides, it wasn't exactly a difficult diagnosis.

Shifting on his cot, Hawkeye contemplated his tent-mate once again. Five, maybe six more weeks of this insanity and he was going to have to break in a new surgeon.

I took him under my wing. Maybe a little too much under. I tried to keep him busy, and the North Koreans were happy to help out with that. But you know me, I took full credit for the fact that BJ was holding up well. Figured that I was the only thing keeping him from a one way ticket on the straightjacket express. I was kinda proud of that. I liked feeling that I was looking after him. 

When the pranks started, it took Hawkeye a while to figure out it was BJ. He had to actually catch him unstitching the back seam on Radar's trousers. After a quick debate on whether they could do the same to Frank's (they couldn't) and whether Radar would notice at first (probably not), they retired to Rosie's for a celebratory sake.

All the while, Hawkeye had trouble shaking a feeling of disappointment. Not that BJ was the prankster. That was actually a nice surprise. He'd put his money on it being Klinger and had already begun planning ways to blackmail Frank into not bringing him up on charges.

Three bottles of sake and too many beers later, he worked out what it was. After more beer and a few glasses of Chateau Le Swamp (yesterday morning was a fine vintage), he began to acknowledge it. He wasn't disappointed because BJ had found a way to let off steam. He was upset because BJ had found an outlet and hadn't told him. Hawkeye knew he must be very drunk and very tired to be admitting that he was actually feeling jealous. As he lay on his cot, watching dawn creep into the camp, he desperately tried to sleep, afraid of what new conclusion he might come to if he didn't derail this train of thought.

And you know Trap, for weeks I managed to convince myself that I was jealous and resentful because BJ wasn't you. Because you'd have let me in on the pranks from the start, and that it was just because I missed my old buddy. I rationalized, and I explained it away and I might even have persuaded myself. But then BJ slept with Nurse Donovan.

I told him not to tell his wife. And I was right; it would have been the worst thing that he could have done. But that might have been the first pebble. And I didn't even see the landslide coming.

BJ was slumped on the floor when Hawkeye walked in. Potter had sent for him, warning that BJ was taking things really hard. For that comment, Col. Potter should be nominated for understatement of the war. Black eye still smarting from his earlier encounter with BJ, he took his metal helmet, more for comic affect than actual concern.

Hawkeye found it hard to believe this was all over Erin calling Radar 'Daddy'. But while he at least had a clue what was going on, the extent to which it had affected BJ was still shocking. Hawkeye sat next to him as he cried, and tried to say something to help. There probably wasn't a thing he could say that would work, but he tried anyway.

Eventually he just wrapped an arm around BJ's shoulders and held him tightly. Stroking his fingers through BJ's hair in what he hoped was a comforting motion, Hawkeye stared at the opposite wall and listened as sobbing turned to deep breaths. He looked down, half expecting BJ to be passed out on his shoulder.

Instead, he found himself staring into pale blue eyes, bloodshot from alcohol and crying. With each breath from BJ, the ghost of too much alcohol engulfed Hawkeye's face but he still didn't turn away. Both men held their positions until one snapped. It was impossible to tell who moved first when they finally kissed. Hawkeye could feel the brush of BJ's moustache on his upper lip, tickling the underside of nose. For a moment he just went with it, until the saddle he was resting back on shifted and reality slipped back in.

He tilted his head back, and then further back again when BJ tried to compensate for it.

"Wait."

"No"

"This isn't right . You're upset. You're drunk. I'm concussed." Hawkeye paused "I _hope_ I'm concussed."

"Don't care."

"Not right now maybe, but when I'm late and my daddy comes round with the shotgun..." Hawkeye drifted off, eyes still fixed on BJ.

BJ waited. "Are you done?"

"Not really."

"Well you'll have to finish later." BJ sat up and leaned over to Hawkeye, as Hawkeye tried to dodge his friend.

"You know, you're going to hate yourself in the morning."

"No I won't," said BJ, continuing to press himself on Hawkeye

"Then I'm going to hate myself in the morning."

"It's already morning."

Hawkeye gave up. He had never been good at self-restraint. Mae West was practically his role model. He could, in fact, resist anything but temptation. And this wasn't even temptation. This was BJ, on a plate, actually offering himself up to him. He sighed and pushed BJ back against the saddle stand.

_Well I already hate myself so that's alright._ Self-loathing did nothing to temper Hawkeye's enthusiasm.

See why I have to write this to you? You and me, we dealt with George. And we did our share of strange things when we were drunk. But the big problem I've got is that I wasn't drunk. I managed a mouthful of Bourbon but that's nowhere near enough. You know, Frank warned BJ not to let me corrupt him. BJ joked that he'd try. Almost feels like I didn't get the joke until recently.

And it was strange how easily he managed to pretend nothing happened. But I figured, what the hell, he was upset, I was there, it won't happen again. And if I can encourage him to have a little more fun, maybe this sort of thing won't happen again. Or won't hit him so hard. So I pushed him towards doing other things, and threw myself back into the old ways. 

Hawkeye was back on the prowl and no nurse was safe. Then Aggie O'Shea turns up. And boy Trap, she is everything you've heard and more. Beautiful, talented, witty and with only one major flaw. Appalling taste. I mean I was suave, sophisticated, slapstick, seductive and I didn't even get a raised eyebrow. I'm telling you, I was two steps down from humiliating in trying to get a moment alone with her. Nothing.

BJ on the other hand, doesn't lift a finger and practically has her swooning in his arms. One day I'll find out how he does that, bottle it and become a millionaire.

"C'mon, you've been quiet ever since Aggie left." BJ put the full glass down on the crate beside Hawkeye. Its contents swirled messily around, spilling over the side and betraying the amount already in BJ's system.

"Me? Quiet?" exclaimed Hawkeye "Do you listen to yourself, Beej? When have you ever known me to be quiet? I just couldn't get a word in edgewise with you monopolising our visitor. And to think," Hawkeye continued, trying for playful and coming off petulant "all that time and attention and you just turned her down!"

BJ picked up on the underlying tone. "Ha ha! You're jealous! The Casanova of Korea was shot down in favour of a lowly Michaelangelo."

"Michaelangelo didn't like girls," Hawkeye corrected. "I don't think he'd have been particularly interested in everyone's favourite war correspondent."

"Well then he and I have something in common." BJ laughed as Hawkeye eyed him suspiciously. "I may as well be homosexual in this camp - young, pretty nurses all around and I barely give them the time of day."

Hawkeye raised a faint smile and BJ stared at him.

"That was a joke."

"Sorry Beej, I'm just not in a funny mood right now." Hawkeye nodded towards the martini. "Not in a drinking mood either."

BJ rushed forward dramatically, reaching for Hawkeye's forehead. Hawkeye tried to shake him off, but BJ held his head in place with one hand and reached for his wrist with another.

"Temperature seems normal, and pulse is fine. Are you suffering any other symptoms?"

Hawkeye shook BJ free of his wrist. "I'm not sick; I'm just not in the mood right now."

BJ's amused expression disappeared, to be replaced by a more serious one. "Look, I just came within a whisper of cheating on my wife," he said, removing his hand from Hawkeye's forehead and curling it into a fist in frustration. "And not just a fling, a full blown affair. I need a drink, and I need you to drink with me."

The implication was clear. It wasn't the drink he needed. It was the drink after, and the drink after that. And more importantly, it was what was going to happen when they'd both had just enough to drink.

"Charles..." Hawkeye wasn't quite sure how to put the question.

"Is attempting to teach Col. Potter the finer points of Cribbage"

"That poor man. You know, maybe we should go and rescue-"

"No." BJ cut Hawkeye off mid-sentence. "Drink. You need to drink. I need to drink."

And five martinis later the two were sprawled over Hawkeye's cot, fumbling with buttons and zippers.

Sidney would be impressed with how much justification BJ flings around when he's in that sort of mood. How everything doesn't count because we're guys, it's a war, we're drunk. I wish I could manage it. And it's not like Father Mulcahy or Col. Potter can help me out here.

They were in Rosie's back room again. Hawkeye was fairly sure she knew what was going on, but neither she nor BJ seemed to care. Live and let live was her policy, so long as everyone paid their tab. And tonight's tab was going to be a doozy. Beer cans were strewn around like empty shell casings, and BJ was reciting another tale of Mill Valley with great gusto. With every sweeping gesture, more cans fell from the table to the floor. But Hawkeye couldn't even raise a smile. With this, whatever, becoming more routine, thoughts were plaguing him.  
BJ caught his expression and ceased his revelry. "Penny for `em."

"`m not that cheap," said Hawkeye absently.

"Okay, what deep, dark thoughts have got you so wrapped up that even Old Duncan's sheep-powered tractor can't cheer you up?"

"You have any idea what happens if we're caught doing this? We had a guy before your time. George. Wanna know what happened to him when his buddies found out what he liked doing with the other boys?"

"What's there to find out about?"

Hawkeye opened his mouth incredulously, an angry speech rising to the surface when BJ put his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

"Fine, fine. But why would anyone find out? We get drunk, we get silly, we do... bizarre things. It's what we do, that's us!

"You have absolutely no idea."

"Shut up, Hawkeye," said BJ, lurching over the table and crushing his face to Hawkeye's. It wasn't the worst drunken kiss Hawkeye had enjoyed, but it was down there with them. But by now, he just couldn't say no to BJ. He'd say no to the draft, no to the war, to intolerance, to cabbage and to prohibition. But he wouldn't say no to BJ. And he was damned if he wanted to.

I guess that's why the minute I'm done writing, I'm gonna throw this letter in the stove. I just needed to clear my head and talking to you was always good for that.

Charles is on-duty. The camp is quiet. The Christmas truce shows some signs of holding, and BJ is tossing and turning again. He hates this time of year, over here at least. I'm going to wake him up with a martini in five or ten minutes - closest thing I can get to a meaningful present. I guess we gotta get our comfort where we can, Trap.

Wish you were here, but glad you're not.

Hawkeye


End file.
